


That one time Darcy Lewis outsnarked the God of Mischief

by Ambrosia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: As usual Darcy is the snarkmaster, F/M, Smut, but Loki is welcome to try and take her title, he will not win, post thor 2 just fyi, tasertricks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are,” Loki said, narrowing his blue eyes. He had one hell of a smile, for fuck’s sake. Darcy mentally hit herself. “Something. You are not like the others in this realm.” </p><p>“Nope,” Darcy said. “I’m just the one that tazered the god of thunder,” she paused with the sippy straw between her lips. “You know, your brother? Bout’ six two, twice your size, swings a hammer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That one time Darcy bought the God of Mischief a cup of Coffee

“Are you a sorceress?” Loki asked, “Or a common hedgewitch.”

Darcy had caught a glimpse of leather and metalworking while she had tapped away on her computer, but when she looked up, the verified god of mischief was wearing a lovely tailored black suit. 

The first thing that managed to scramble out of her mouth was, “Seriously?” 

Her taser is in her bag against her right foot, but Darcy severely doubted she could make a grab for it before Jack Frost over there put her through a meat grinder. 

Loki made no reply, but instead seated himself in the ottoman to her left, crossing his long legs that went on for an eternity. “You are certainly not mortal,” he said. 

Darcy tilted her glasses at him. “Nope,” she said. 

Loki’s eyes appraised, which, seriously, was an entirely different universe than the barista taking her order from roughly breast-level, but also wasn’t as creepy, in some weird way. 

Darcy slammed her laptop shut. “Your brother thinks you’re dead, y’know,” Darcy said. “Again.” 

Loki acted like he hadn’t heard a thing she had just said, which, seriously, really didn’t happen in her life enough. It really didn’t. 

Why did she not keep her taser on her person. Darcy, c’mon girl. 

But then Loki did the thing that Thor sometimes did, where he just looked, and waited, and went creepily still while Darcy was either forced to A: stare back at him with an equal amount of intensity in a battle for which of them had the biggest balls, or B: find something to do with her attention because goddammit was Loki pretty cut. 

And Darcy had done interns, biker guys, computer geeks — she snagged a permanent virus protection from that one, thank you very much. Completely worth the awkward, clingy texts for the next month and a half. And apparently one of her new kinks is perfectly fitted, tailor suits because damn. 

Men in suits really was the women’s kinky panties. 

But after a moment, Darcy rolled her eyes, and gave in.

“So, are you gonna like, kill me and stuff,” Darcy cautioned, “Or do you, uh, want a cappuccino or somethin’?”

“Coffee, if you would be so kind,” Loki said, smooth as silk. “Black and sweet as the dark’s kiss.”

Seriously. Darcy’s hands dangled after she stood up. _Seriously_?

If she could get the barista with the wandering eye problem to write ‘Jack Frost’ on Loki’s cup, she might actually forgive him for speaking directly to her sweaty cleavage. 

Both of which Darcy was denied, because the barista was too busy hiding from the God of Mischief to actually do anything more than pour the coffee and shove it at her. At least his eyes were on the floor.

“You did not respond to my question,” Loki said. He took his coffee from her, “I asked you if you are Sorcerer or Hedgewitch, or some other manner of midgardian magic.”

Darcy pushed her glasses up her nose as she sat down, “Uh, nope. Darcy Lewis, nice to meet cha. PoliSci graduate, factoring my missing three credits. Lab assistant for a scientist with a sex god boy-toy. General coffee fetcher. Life coach.”

She almost expected him to react to the coffee, but there was nothing on his handsome face but a serene sense of elegance that just avoided Darcy entirely. For real, Darcy had become one with whiffy lab coats and coffee stains and Poptart crumbs.

“You are,” Loki said, narrowing his blue eyes. He had one hell of a smile, for fuck’s sake. Darcy mentally hit herself. “Something. You are not like the others in this realm.” 

“Nope,” Darcy said. “I’m just the one that tazered the god of thunder,” she paused with the sippy straw between her lips. “You know, your brother? Bout’ six two, twice your size, swings a hammer.” 

Darcy held up her arms like a gorilla, to show him. Loki had a strange combination of distain and honest amusement on his face, it was a weird combo. But, hey, she could work with that. 

“If you are indeed mortal,” Loki said, looking her up and down, “Perhaps I should see fit to judge Midgard better.”

Darcy examined him, this time, because she could swear to all things good and only illegal in twenty seven states, that eight months ago her opponent for the title ‘world champion snarkmaster’ had attempted to, you know, take over the world through subjugation. 

“Yeah, well, I may or may not have both Iron Man and Pepper Pots on speed dial,” Darcy said, noncommittal. “Neither of which are people that you would want to be pissing off at the mo’, Frostyknickers.”

“Have you ever tazered the Man of Iron?” Loki asked, leaning forward and looking intrigued. “I threw him from a building once.” 

Darcy remembered. Tony still wouldn’t stand near the higher windows at the top of Stark Tower. “No, but there’s still time. I could probably hit you with my car, too, if you want to join the club.” 

Darcy looked at Loki, eyebrows raised. Loki looked at Darcy, doing that examining thing that was apparently completely natural for him. Darcy wasn’t sure why she wasn’t terrified, somewhere, at the moment, but it was probably because she was sleep deprived and only trudging forward because of an unlawfully large amount of caffeine and internet. 

“You must be magic,” Loki said, a smile at one corner of his lips. “Mortals are not so clever, nor so resilient.” 

Was that a compliment and an insult? An insultiment from the God of Mischief, the big baddie of the Norse Pantheon. 

Well that was going on her resume. 

Darcy still had the straw in her mouth, but said, “Unless you count being able to successfully bullshit my way through my research thesis for my U.S. Social Policy class and manage a B-, sadly,” Darcy paused and held her hands out in a shrug, “I got nadda.”

Loki lifted his chin up, eyes narrowed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to think of Darcy and her bullshitting magic. It was magic, Darcy knew, because her bullshitting powers were legendary at Iowa State University. 

“So, you, uh,” Darcy tried, after a comfortable, coffee ingesting silence, “Out doin’ the whole mischief thing?”

Loki leaned back in is ottoman, steepled his fingers in a serious, only slightly amused sort of way. 

“Now, why would you say that,” Loki said. “Now I may have to switch that caffeine you drink for poison, just to reach my quota.” 

“Now hold up,” Darcy said, pretending at being affronted. “You would ruin a perfectly good Venti non-fat six pump chai tea latte?”

She tried for scandalized. Loki smiled. 

“Then how would you suggest I,” Loki paused, “‘Do the mischief thing’, Darcy Lewis?”

“Hell, I dunno. You do like a tappy thing. And then a zappy thing, and then do a pushy thing, then boom, roasted thunder god,” Darcy smiled, using her hands to make the universal symbol for ‘boom’. “Get promoted to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Loki laughed. Like really laughed, like her equivalent of snorting into her morning coffee with Jane. It wasn’t the whole creepy smirk thing that Darcy had seen on TV. 

It was probably getting hotter in the coffee shop, anyway, cause most likely somebody had managed to call the police. Actually it was oddly empty, now that Darcy actually thought about it. 

But her cheeks felt warm, and that utterly sucked. 

“You are oddly surprising, Darcy Lewis,” said Loki. Darcy felt her chest warm, too. Fuck. “For a mortal, of course.” 

“Hey, I do what I can, your lordship.”

Why was she cursed with being the master of snark, again? Seriously, her mouth had no filter, she was trying to be nice and came out as an asshole. _Goddammit_. 

But Loki stood, brushing the crinkles from his very much fitted suit, seriously, could she maybe find out who his tailor is to give him a tip, please, that’d be just great, cause, damn, he was cut. 

“I thank you, for your coffee,” Loki said. He waved his hand and the empty cup was gone, as was the napkin it had rested on. 

“Oh, hey, it’s no prob,” Darcy said, gesturing to the front of the shop. “S’not every day I get to have coffee with S.H.I.E.L.D’s number two Villain, I’m sure I’m gonna be paying for that the moment that the staff get un-bedazzled.” 

Loki stopped adjusting his jacket, “Second?”

Darcy refocused her attention on his face, and not his forearms because Darcy, girl, _focus_. All she said was, “Galactus.”

He appeared to be considering for a moment, hands still halfway through straightening that jacket, but a look that said, ‘fair enough’ to Darcy appeared on his face. 

“You are still a hedgewitch,” Loki said, as he finished with his coat and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His lips were like ice, but Darcy discovered she was really, _really_ in to that shit. 

‘Nother kink, because that was great, she really, really needed to have more than one kink and never get laid, for real. 

“But,” Loki said, mouth both hot and cold against her cheek in a way that was unfairly intimate, seriously, unfair, she could work with that all they needed was like a bathroom. Or a storeroom, or a cupboard, “I can’t let you go running off to Thor that you’ve seen me.”

Darcy felt a cold that bit on her cheek, which she rubbed at with her coat sleeve. Her laptop was shut, the sun a little lower than it had been. Her chai was gone. She reached into her lap for her bag, but found it was on the floor. 

Darcy’d been sure she had just had a thought, but it was gone. Well, she’d been up since five thirty this morning, maybe it was her lack of sleep. 

It was only when she picked up the empty chai on her way out that she noticed that it said ‘hedgewitch’. She muttered, “I’mma fuckin’ taze that asshole barista, you mark my words.” 


	2. That one time Darcy macked on the God of Mischief in a Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh, but,” Darcy tried, cause wow, that was a double shot of awesome, “Frosty-knickers, aren’t you the God of Sex and stuff?” 
> 
> There was something that sounded awfully like a snort from her collarbone, and then, “‘And stuff’,” Loki said. “Yes, I suppose.” 
> 
> He came up from her shoulder to look Darcy in the eye, and Darcy said without her face breaking, “I don’t think I can perform on the spot like that.”

Between the coffee runs, and the late nights at Jane’s lab, and those damn three credits that Darcy _swore_ she had gotten, and, you know, Avenging shit, Darcy had really no time. She was up until three with Jane, up again by five thirty. 

If her blood wasn’t chai tea brown yet, she’d literally be defying science. 

But still, life in the lab went on. Thor came back. Thor left again. Thor was back again. Erik still had a lack of pants that they all had to come to terms with. 

Tony Stark showed up with new tech for them that Darcy would have literally sold her body for. 

Minor explosions happened, only one of which was actually directly because of her. 

Darcy did coffee runs. Darcy did a lot of coffee runs. 

To the point where like, ninety six percent of the baristas near the university didn’t even need to ask her order, they just rang her up and she paid. 

Darcy was, as always, the bane of S.H.I.E.L.D’s existence. Several people in question would pay dearly to understand the dark corners of the internet that Darcy participated in, and in particular one’s name started with ‘Bar’ and ended with ‘Ton’. 

But of course Darcy’d never give out trade secrets. She’d be ostracized from her community. 

But if Stark showed up with the newest model of his phone six months before it was available to the public, she might have to re-access this loyalty. 

What? Stark made good phones. 

The underground was busy, as usual, brushes and touches that Darcy was always warded against, because there was a very big difference between someone falling into her back and someone grabbing her ass, but a taser in close range wouldn’t hold well for anybody. 

When Darcy fell out of the train at the stop she meant to take, a woman fell out with her. Tall, lithe, attractive as all hell and she had no right to look that comfortable in heels, seriously, what the fuck. Black hair and green eyes, Darcy was instantly stupid in the mouth. 

“My pardon,” said the woman. 

“Uh, yeah,” Darcy said, and goddammit, mouth, work please. “It’s cool.” 

She thanked the god of getting laid, whichever one, that she had worn simple boots to work that day, and not heels, because if her mouth got stupid in the face of a beautiful person, her feet got stupider. 

She also tended to wield massive amounts of sarcasm. 

How Darcy ended up pushed up against the wall of a pub, however, was entirely over her head but goddamn if she wasn’t into it. Because Darcy might have a thing. She might have a thing for bad boys, good boys, pretty girls, nerdy girls, military uniforms for all genders. 

Okay, so she might have a lot of things, but Darcy is lucky enough that her companion hits several of them, all at once. 

And fuck her if she doesn’t have a talented mouth. 

But Darcy’s phone rings. Her phone hardly ever rings, seriously, she’s the one that keeps Erik and Jane in line, it’s too early for her dad’s timezone for him to be calling, so somewhere, in the back of Darcy’s sex addled brain, it registers that it might be something important. 

“Sorry, christ,” Darcy says, tearing her mouth away from the brunette’s— part of her brain cusses her out rather colorfully. It’s Erik. Darcy answers the phone immediately, “Erik? Erik, what’sa ‘matter?”

There is no answer on the other end of the line. Pocket dial? Perhaps. It’s not too late, so Darcy weighs the question in her mind. If something really happened, Jane would call. 

But when she turned back to her brunette, she’d been replaced by the God of Mischief. “Holy shit,” Darcy cried out, launching off the wall and back into the entryway of the pub. “Holy, wow, okay, that was really not, uhm.” 

His mouth is red. _His mouth is red_?

Some part of her, the part that really wanted to keep kissing that brunette, instead wantd to slide down the wall with her head in her hands. “I just macked on a norse deity, mother of christ. I’m going to hell, that’s not even, I’m in the eighth circle of hell right now, my grandmother is rolling in her bones.” 

Another entirely different part of her really wanted to get back to what she was doing before. 

He could clone, right. That was a thing. 

But Loki was touching his lip, not in pain or any sort discomfort, but in a sort of unfamiliar way. When he looked up, all blue eyed jaw droppingness that Darcy found she could totally get into, he exhaled, and the fog that your breath becomes when it gets cold came out too. Like steam, but not. 

And, fuck, yeah, okay, she could work with that. “Are you, uh, like gonna kill me for coming onto you, or something,” Darcy tried, trying to keep a respectable distance and feeling very much like a dude caught during the inappropriate prom night groping by daddy dearest. “Cause if you are, I’d very much like to go get a Jagermiester or something.” 

Go out with a bang, and all that shit, or something, at least be too drunk to use her last moments to remember slobbering all over the God of Mischief. 

But something halted Darcy, and dragged her back into the darkness of the wall, which seemed early dark for some stupid reason, and it might register in Darcy’s brain somewhere that the bartender seems to have actually stopped moving. 

And Christ, she has not done nearly enough mischief for her to die, yet. There are several assholes that she can unleash the darkest corners of the internet and Reddit upon. 

A hand rested against her forehead, and it must be Loki’s because she had no other explanation, but Loki closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall and bared his incredibly tasty looking neck to her. Seriously, she could get on board for that. 

She could really get on board with that. 

But then, magic was cold, Darcy thought, like, less a tingling going down her spine but more that feeling when you have goo dripping down your forehead, that kinda cold, except that it went from the very crown of her head to the middle of her chest. 

But it was like that part of Order of the Phoenix where the house slides into place out of practically nothing, that was what it was like, some foreign piece that slid home and was suddenly there and Darcy could feel and remember that it hadn’t been there before, but no, that wasn’t right either. 

So Darcy did the first thing that came to mind, she punched the God of Mischief right in the face. “Asshole,” she said. 

Loki didn’t clutch at his jaw, she had literally just moved his entire head two inches that way but he didn’t seem to understand that her right hook had knocked over quite a few people. Several S.H.I.E.L.D agents of renown. That one guy that had tried to steal Jane’s purse back in New Mexico. 

Her point was, Loki did not sufficiently go flying. 

“You coulda just fucking asked me after I bought you coffee, like a normal girlfriend would ask for sex, but no,” Darcy bit, nearly going to swing at him again but then suddenly realizing that _ow_ , hey, motherfuck, her ring finger might actually broken. “ _Fuck_.” 

Loki moved his head back to place, and then said, looking like Darcy was ripping one of his fingernails off, “I _am_ sorry,” he said. “I assumed you would tell Thor.” 

It took Darcy a moment to consider what he had actually meant by that, because she really can’t pull up and answer any time soon, until something else clicked in her head and reminded her, “Oh.” 

Thor thought Loki was dead. Again. 

Half of London was still in rubble. Right. 

“Well,” Darcy said. “I mean, yeah, I probably would have told him. But you didn’t have to go all Jaime Alexander on me!”

Loki wouldn’t meet her eyes. The suave, drool inducing god of two days ago was looking properly ravished and Darcy-fied. “I wished to see you again,” was all he said. 

“It’s been two days,” Darcy said. “You _Men in Black’d_ me.” 

The rather appropriate reference appeared to go straight over Loki’s head. Shame, really, because that was an excellent reference use, right there, Tony Stark would have been very proud of her. 

And Darcy was angry. Her finger hurt, but she was also horny, a little bit drunk but she could be much drunker, she wanted to do things to Loki that would probably make several of her older brothers cough uncomfortably, but she was mad, too, and if her genitals could just decide which way they would like to go, _thanks_ , that’d be great. 

But finally, Darcy settled on the old-fashioned yet good, “The fuck, dude.” 

Loki took a deep breath, but ended up jamming his hand through his hair, and pushing it back. Hello, yes, operator, I’d like to order seventeen disgruntled and sexually frustrated Gods of Mischief. 

Yes, I’ll hold. 

“I do not know!” Loki said, looking slightly panicked. “You do not look or sound or taste like any mortal I have seen, that is why I asked you in the first place!” 

Well that completely knocked the sarcasm right out of her head, bite of her tongue and the snap of her teeth, too. “You serious?” 

“No,” said Loki, “Yes.”

“I’m a _coffee runner_. Glorified lab assistant.” Darcy closed her eyes, realizing her error, “Reverse that.” 

Darcy flapped her arms at her sides, like that would help somehow. It didn’t, but damn did she not know what to do in a situation like this. “I told you, I got nadda.” 

Loki took his hands and slid them down her back, and yeah, okay, God of Mischief. Message received, thank you Norse Pantheon. 

Darcy grabbed ahold of that awesome suit that she loved so much, two fistfuls and dragged Loki down to her level, to her lips. As much as Darcy knew other things, she was confident that she knew kissing. She knew when to bite, and when to be gentle, and she knew what to do with the thigh that she used to part Loki’s legs. 

But, as wet as her lips had been, Loki’s were absolutely cold to the touch. 

Loki pulled away, hissing. His lips were red again, but when Darcy went to speak, her breath came out in wisps of fog like she had swallowed dry ice, just like his had some time ago. 

“Woah,” Darcy said. “Awesome.” 

“It burns,” said Loki, hand on his lips. 

Darcy backed away from him, murmuring, “Oh, uh. Sorry.” 

But he totally didn’t do what she was expecting. Loki grabbed her by her hips and pulled her back and said, “Do it again.” 

“Uh, but,” Darcy tried, cause wow, that was a double shot of awesome, “Frosty-knickers, aren’t you the God of Sex and stuff?” 

There was something that sounded awfully like a snort from her collarbone, and then, “‘And stuff’,” Loki said. “Yes, I suppose.” 

He came up from her shoulder to look Darcy in the eye, and Darcy said without her face breaking, “I don’t think I can perform on the spot like that.” 

It was that moment that ten icy fingernails scraped across her lower abdomen and Darcy said, “Wow, okay, gotta go all Edward Scissor-Icy hands on me like that, okay, jesus, I was just trying for a bit of humor.”  


	3. That one time Darcy totally did the God of Mischief and Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have me,” Loki said. There was nothing but a need in his voice. “Please.”
> 
> Darcy was a lab assistant, not a saint.

“Oh jesus,” Darcy said, straddling his hips, “They are not fucking around about the whole God and sex thing.” 

Loki grabbed her by her shirt and dragged her back down, which, hey, she was not about to complain. 

Darcy’s laugh was silenced by a swipe of Loki’s tongue, dragging ice across her collar, because yeah, she had a thing. 

It wasn’t surprising to Darcy that Loki was a complete sub in bed. Well, he was probably everything, being all in God of Sex mode, but with her, in this particular moment, Loki was completely begging for anything she was willing to give. 

Which, Darcy had to admit, was pretty damn hot. 

With all the touching she had done in the pub, Darcy didn’t even bother with pretense. And there may, or may not, have been a little part of Darcy that still felt a bit peeved that Loki had not just asked for this in the first place, because seriously. 

The suit alone had left her wanting. 

So she, maybe, kinda, sorta, not really, okay maybe really went straight for his cock that had grown hard as she had straddled his thighs and helped him slip out from his suit jacket. 

“Hey, make with the magic mojo, Jack Frost,” Darcy said, pushing him down to the floor next to the coffee table, “I got stuff to steal and people to do.” 

And she doesn’t do this for just anybody, not after first dates— but the thought doesn’t even finish going through Darcy’s brain before she realizes that they _haven’t_ had a date, Loki, God of Mischief jumped her, she bought him coffee, and then showed up as a woman. 

Which was _awesome_ , because that woman had really wanted to get into Darcy’s pants, and could clone themselves. Which, really, just opens up a whole wide world of possibilities normally impossible unless she wanted to nail more than two frat boys at once. 

And take it from her, that usually never ended up well. Lots of vomit. And bad body odor. 

But hey, God of Mischief, practically beneath her. 

Less of a notch on her headboard and more of, oh, if she took a broadsword to it and happily hacked away for a while. 

“Darcy,” Loki complained. 

Darcy used her hands to keep his wrists on the floor where they lay, and slid down his chest to rest between his spread legs, and she took him into her mouth with her tongue. He is cock is cold, not warm like she expected, but the cry that escaped his throat made her think that maybe, like when they had kissed, it burned. 

She stopped, looking up at him, but the utter growl that he hissed when she stopped was more than enough to give her an answer for the question she had half a mind to ask. 

“So I was thinking,” Darcy said after a long lick and a pause, “Awful, horrible thing to do at this very moment, I’m aware.” 

Loki let out a whine coming from the back of his throat, his hips jumping up to meet her tongue. 

But Darcy did not give in. “You know the six foot something completely edible female that I wanted to burry my face in a little bit ago that turned out to be a God of Mischief?”

Loki’s mouth dropped open, his throat, god she loved his throat, his throat was an awesome thing. 

But Darcy removed her tongue, so he angrily lifted his head in frustration, and she kinda, sorta, might have seen a bit of green mojo on his fingertips. “Is that like, let’s say, uh, an awesome coat that you slip on and off, or is that like, full on change?” 

His hips pushed up again, he muttered something that Darcy didn’t catch. She removed her hand from around his cock and he nearly screamed. “I can fully change,” he managed to say.

“So I could, I dunno, do this to you, while you were like that,” Darcy said; but then Loki slammed his palm against the floor that nearly broke the wood paneling underneath. 

Loki let out a stream of profanities, at least, what Darcy assumed were profanities. They were in several different languages that had absolutely no grammatical resemblance to anything she’d ever heard before. Asgardian, maybe? 

Tolkien’s elvish from hell?

But she sat up and grinned, wiping her lips with her hands, “I’m taking that as a yes?” 

If she was going to be murdered by the God of Mischief, it probably would have been then, and frankly, she’d be a hundred percent a-ok with it. Dying, right now, she’d be fine. 

Cause the glare on his blitzed out face was more than worth burning in the eighth circle of hell. Totally. 

But then, with another non All-Speak profanity, Darcy found herself against the couch, and then the wall, and then the kitchen counter, which were in completely different rooms, by the way. 

With furniture between points a, b, and c. 

“Dude, you break that wall, you get me a new one,” Darcy managed to say before Loki slid down from where he had been, her leggings were suddenly vanished and tugged her boy shorts aside and went straight to the good stuff. “Holy, god, fuck.” 

And teleportation, even accidental teleportation, during the pre-game? Awesome. Half awesome because it took away the stumbling over each other and accidental stepping of little toes. Half dangerous because Darcy did get hit by a cabinet once. But hey, it was pretty nice to get slammed against stuff with magical mojo. 

More awesome because it appeared that if Darcy wanted to do the slamming and teleporting, she could. She didn’t know if it was intent and Loki’s magic, but hey, it worked for her purposes. 

And Darcy, Darcy ain’t new at the whole sex thing. 

But getting eaten out by somebody that _really_ wanted to eat you out, by one God of Mischief that has very possibly been in a woman-like form and has actually been eaten out and thus knows what they are doing, that’s a whole ‘nother ballpark that had her pushing her hips of the wall and against Loki’s tongue. One hand in his hair and one hand grabbing for the wall, for anything, to hold onto. 

Loki pulled back, Darcy reeling from the loss of his tongue, and just breathed in, using his hands to get better access. His fingers teased where his tongue had been, but Darcy wanted his tongue back, why’d he stop using his tongue, “Oh my god, don’t stop, why are you,” but Darcy never actually got to finish because _really long fingers_. 

Getting close but impatient for the end, Darcy pushed his hands away and dragged him upward and kissed her own taste from his chin and his lips. He was cold, everywhere, and Darcy wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It made him more sensitive to her skin, that much she knew. 

“Darcy,” Loki bit. 

“Yeah, I know,” Darcy said. 

His chest bare, every time she dragged her hands over his skin, he arched his entire spine into it. Darcy stroked against his hip, and his thighs, carefully avoiding anywhere he might actually want her to touch, each stroke some sound coming out of Loki’s throat that Darcy absolutely loved. 

“I will make you regret this,” Loki hissed. There was red tinting at the corner of his eyes that Darcy barely noticed. “You will wish for something as sweet as torment.” 

Which, hey, Darcy can work with that. She can definitely work with that. 

But it held less of its’ threatening value because Loki was half begging, half swearing, and the action went straight to Darcy’s crotch. 

Darcy grabbed his cock, right at the base and stroked again. Loki whimpered, already hard again. If his temperature had been normal, he would have been slick with sweat. It created friction that Darcy would have thought painful, but it had Loki mewling against her ear.

“Have me,” Loki said. There was nothing but a need in his voice. “Please.”

Darcy was a lab assistant, not a saint. 

There were just some things that you did not need to be told twice, and apparently that was one of them.

She straddled his lap, her back against the coffee table, fingers going between them to guide him where he needed to be. 

Leaning back meant that there was plenty of room between them for bonus rounds, which, by the way, were usually awesome. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Darcy said. Loki’s frozen hands found their way to her hips, pressing her down as far as she could go. It wasn’t so much that Loki’s cock was too big, it was that he was nicely formed that rubbed all the right places in all the right ways and thick so that he stretched her insides in a way that made her want to scream. 

For all her talk and play, and trust, she was not in need of any toys whatsoever, she had everything imaginable, it had been a while. Crazy lab hours, and all. 

Also scientists didn’t usually notice a seduction unless you stapled a notice to their foreheads. 

He thrusted suddenly, when Darcy wasn’t expecting it, and it brought an honest gasp out of her mouth because yeah okay maybe she had been feeling the whole dominating thing and maybe had forgotten who she was dealing with. 

But Loki did it again, so Darcy rolled her hips as much as she could manage. 

Because, seriously, she was not gonna go all wobbly knees now. 

Loki’s throat worked again— god, she loved his throat. She could stare at his throat for a while, if only she could watch him swallow increasingly inappropriate things. Seriously, his throat, his throat was a fixation, long panes and hard lines and yum. 

She thrusted down as Loki’s hips went up, meeting in a way that was completely awesome, so Darcy took the opportunity to lick his neck, then use her teeth to drag across his cool skin. “Ah,” the breath came from his mouth. 

His hands slid around to grip her ass, his nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. 

Encouraged, Darcy bit harder, laving at the skin when she was done, biting again. Pain, then a balm, then pain again. It was met with another uncontrolled thrust and a moan. 

She wasn’t a biting girl. She’d both bitten and been bitten, and yeah she was certainly up for it, among other things. She was reconsidering it. 

“Again,” Loki commanded. She bit, he cried out. 

She was reconsidering this whole biting thing entirely. 

Without having to be told, Loki’s cool fingers— seriously they were out of this world cold, found their way between her thighs, because _yes_. 

“God, you’re such asshole,” Darcy said, arching into to his fingers and panting. She could have laughed when his fingers moved a little faster and pressed his thumb against her clit.

It was just the right combo, and just the right pace. Before long, Darcy had reached her climatic movie sequence. She rocked against Loki’s chest, muscles clenching, and went over. 

And it shouldn’t have been as comfortable on the floor in the space between her couch and the coffee table, but it was, a vine’s tangle of completely blitzed limbs and sweat, which was, hey, awesome, awesome tingle in her lady bits. 

Release the happy endorphins, yay!

But Loki was breathing hard, and fast, his breath coming out as quick bursts of frigid mist, and aftercare was just as important as the build up, children. 

So Darcy took her hands and used them to rub the feeling back into his thighs, his back, the area just above his shoulder blades. Darcy ran her hands through his hair and along his chin. She did so with care, possibly more care than she had used for the act itself, but Loki seemed as equally blitzed out as he had been. 

That had to be good, right? 

“Stop thinking so much,” Loki said sleepily. “I am satisfied indeed, but your incessant praying is ruining my peace.”

Darcy stopped dead. “I’m not praying.” 

Loki peaked one blue eye open to look down at her resting in the crook of his arm with her hand still on his chest. He looked entirely unconvinced of what she was thinking, which was some level of panic that he might be able to hear every word she thought. 

But that couldn’t be true, right. That was some Twilight level shit and that was not happening. Nope, she was gonna go steal that metal-bender’s helmet and keep it on permanently. Start a new fashion trend, it’d be fine. 

What was his name, even. Magnum? Magenta? Whatever. 

“I cannot hear your thoughts, just your prayers,” Loki said, closing his eyes once more and laying his head back down. 

So Darcy immediately focused on next time how much she’d like to shove a thumb up his— Loki’s eyes flashed open, and his body shifted. Darcy knew that shift, that was the shift of sudden, unexplainable arousal. “Yes,” was all he said. 

“Cool,” replied Darcy. “Way new heights to cool.” 

And if she was a complete asshole and focused really hard on a few choice memories from earlier and prayed to the God of Mischief, well, then, her name was Darcy Lewis. 

 

 

 .

“I should take my leave,” Loki said. 

How they’d ended up covered in blankets in her living room, Darcy didn’t know, but her body wasn’t even stiff. 

She felt the warmth shift, and felt her body heat come rushing back. Huh, Darcy hadn’t even realized she had been cold. 

Darcy put her hand against her mouth, “Yeah, Frostyknickers,” she said. “Of course.” 

Loki went quiet, back in his armor that she’d first seen him in, on a TV in Heathrow after getting off a plane. “I would wish to come to you again, sometime,” he said. 

Oh, yeah, cause he was a God of Mischief and she was a pseudo-Avenger. Well, she was going to be, once she got the blackmail she needed on Barton. That was a thing, huh. 

Darcy nodded. She sat up, not bothering to clutch something to her chest but brought her knees up, instead. “You aren’t gonna mind wipe me again, are you? It just makes it more difficult when you jump me in a bar,” she said with a bit of a laugh. 

Loki stopped in front of her. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. “No,” was all he said. 

Darcy didn’t think he’d tell her the truth, were he going to. So even standing before her, she closed her eyes against him so that she wouldn’t have to see, and waited for the simple ‘Hedgewitch’ and the kiss that she’d forget again. But it did not come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really did not end up where I thought it was going to, but my fluffy one-shot quickly evolved into Sub!Loki which, I gotta say, was super fun.


End file.
